Contrary To Popular Belief
by Red Fiona
Summary: An AU that splits from the series at the end of OOTP. Set ten years after the final battle. The Daily Prophet decides to run a series of articles to mark the anniversary. The main characters are Lupin, Snape and Hermionie.


Author: Red Fiona

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the setting, JK Rowling and Bloomsbury Books do. I'm making no money from this.

Spoilers: For the big one in OOTP.

Genre: Gen fic, post war (so the usual character death and angst)

Rating: 12

Characters: Remus Lupin, Severus Snape and Hermione Granger

Summary: (AU from OOTP onwards) Set ten years after the final battle. The Daily Prophet decides to run a series of articles to mark the anniversary. This makes certain people think.

Added notes: Yes, I'm well aware that Camlann was the site of King Arthur's last battle. What can I say, once an Arthurian, always an Arthurian.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Sirius and I were never lovers. We weren't even in love. Well not like that. I loved him as a friend, and well, the idea of Sirius Black ever falling for a man, it would have made him laugh. If you were being serious he'd probably have been deeply offended, but just as a conversational gambit or as an insult he would have laughed. Maybe he would have jokingly kissed the nearest male friend.

However, popular belief seems not to give a damn about the facts. I mean it's bad enough that the whole thing is being raked over again. It can't be doing Harry any good, even though he's had the sense to go back into the Muggle world. He still pops down into Diagon Alley every now and again; we keep a spare set of robes for him at the pub in case he wants to mingle. And if he doesn't do that then he talks via the fire. His wife, lovely girl that she is, is quite understanding. She objects to the mess sometimes when I drop in through the Floo unannounced but I only do that in emergencies. And she objects to the mess when I drop in announced. Muggles and floo powder don't agree with each other in my experience.

But he still gets the Daily Prophet delivered and I get a feeling that this week's articles won't be good reading. You think after all these years he would have learnt not to get upset at it but no, it pushes his buttons every time.

It's the tenth anniversary this year you see. Making Harry twenty-eight. Time flies doesn't it. I can remember him when he was nothing but a bump and now he's all grown up. He's got a baby too, and the child really will hate him when he gets old, his middle name is Sirius, poor thing.

They still don't know if it has got the ability or not. You'd think it would but there are times when I think the little mite would be better off as a squib. This is one of those times.

The Daily Prophet is trying to get the facts about Voldemort's fall straight. But despite this it's letting Rita Skeeter write the articles. So somewhere along the line, Sirius and I have become lovers.

Have to say my first instinct was to laugh. So I did, until someone asked what was making me laugh. And then Harry found out. Which was a lot of fun for me. Because the poor boy knew not to believe the Prophet but was also trying to ask without asking whether it was true. Apparently Sirius and I managed to convey the wrong impression to a lot of people. He tripped over his tongue that often that I took pity on him and told him that it wasn't true. And then we had a good laugh at each other's expense.

Trying to get other people to understand that, no, I wasn't Sirius's lover, no, there wasn't the whole Romeo and Juliet thing going on with our two houses and actually as far as I know Sirius was straight, that was less fun.

I suppose I brought it on myself, never getting married, or finding a nice girl and settling down or anything like that. But then again, who'd want to live with someone that turned into a cold-blooded killer once a month. So I never inflicted it on anyone else and have stayed happily single.

I do wonder what it would have been like though, a wife, children, all that. I think it might just be the Marauder's curse that none of us found out. James didn't live long enough to see the fine man his son became and Sirius never had much of a life. He was thrown out of home when he got to fifteen, which gave Malfoy a large number of jokes, and meant half the girls who threw themselves at him suddenly lost interest. Then when he left Hogwarts there was nowhere to go, so he got a job. It was low paying and had long hours so he didn't have much chance for a serious relationship there.

Then came the Order and extra-order dating was discouraged, constant vigilance and all that; never knew what the enemy was up to.

Well everyone knows what happened after that.

I try not to think about it. I try not to think too hard about what happened after we left school, and I just gloss over everything that happened between me resigning from Hogwarts and the reformation of the Ministry five and a half years later. Nothing good happened then, just a lot of decent people dying.

Of course the article doesn't concentrate on that, it concentrates on the great glory of it all, the grand sacrifices of it all. Try telling the mothers that it was glorious.

And of course they're saying that it could never happen again, that by stopping Voldemort we've ensured peace for all eternity. But I can see it all starting up again.

I think that's why Albus always looked so tired in the later days. It was the third time he'd seen it happen. And it'll keep happening. I'm not even a third of the age Albus was and the next time will be the third time I've seen it. Because the reasons aren't ever investigated and nothing's done to stop them.

Muggles are still abhorred, wizards with Muggle parents are still looked down upon, despite the fact that they're just as good as any pureblood. And where there's hate and fear and anger there'll be conflict.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, I don't show my Order of Merlin medal to everyone who crosses my path. In fact, the only person who has seen it is my Mother. She said it was the only worthwhile thing I'd ever done, personally I'd say it was the only worthless thing I ever did.

Of course everyone on the winning side got a medal, even the dead. It was the biggest addition to that honourable institution since Merlin himself set it up.

Not that I got my medal at the ceremony. Oh no, I was considered to be too difficult to explain away in the publicity photos. I am actually on the publicity shots, in the crowd, I'm the angry dark blob on the right, pushed as far from the centre as they could. The way the Prophet cut the photo all you can see is a small flap of my cloak.

My medal arrived two weeks later in a plain brown envelope. The certificate was on off-white paper, with words written in neatest copperplate. "Awarded to Severus Snape, on the fourteenth of July, two thousand and five, the most high and meritorious Order of Merlin."

Since then I've lifted it out of the envelope twice.

Of course I use the letters after my name, in the still vain hope of getting the Defence against Dark Arts position. It's never worked. For all I may say that everything other than potions is all silly wand waving, it would be nice to get that what I want for once. Without a catch this time.

Because I really did use to want this medal. When Black escaped and I thought I had it in my grasp I was the happiest man alive. Now I see it for what it is, a piece of metal and some nice words, covering up the hell that we all went through to get it. Sometimes I hear the children talking to their parents in Hogsmede, saying how great it is to be taught by a holder of the Order of Merlin and then their parents saying, "Oh yes," in a tone that suggest they are ten a knut. They're not. All the gold in Gringott's couldn't make any of us feel any better about what happened.

That's the strange thing the children I hear saying this, I don't know their parents. I don't teach many of the children of my old acquaintances in Slytherin anymore. But that's because they're all dead.

I go over it in my sleep every night. I killed Lucius outright. Even with the mask still covering his face I recognized him. No one else could look quite so superior when his side was losing on every front. He even saluted me before we fought. Such a cavalier touch, so Lucius.

And then things took a turn for the worse.

I'd hit Lucius with something unforgivable. The one true unforgivable.

And then a ball of Death Eater fury hit me. He came straight at me. Even in the shock of battle, I knew only one person would do that. So I only hit him with a little curse, something to immobilize him at worst. The trouble was, when it hit he'd just jumped into mid-air ready to attack.

He fell like a stone and broke his head on the rock below.

The thing nothing prepares you for is the difference between killing with a curse and the sight of someone young enough to be your son bleeding to death beneath you.

They tell me he died instantly and that there was nothing I could have done to save him. They forget I was his head of House; I should have prevented him from being involved in the first place.

They tell me that I wiped out a large phalanx of Death Eaters after that. I say they tell me because they have to tell me. I remember nothing after Draco until the next morning. I wonder how many other children I killed. How many of my students did I destroy? How many of my House's casualties was I responsible for?

I didn't kill Narcissa. She threw herself from the battlements of the Dark Lord's headquarters when she heard the news. I was one of the first on the scene. She looked so much like Draco, smashed against the rocks.

And that's what I see every night. My hands covered in crimson red rivulets of Malfoy blood.

It's all well and good being a member of the Order of Merlin, but I'd rather not be.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief Ron was not the reason why I didn't join the Ministry. He might be many things and impossible on many fronts but he'd have fewer problems than most men with me out-earning him.

It also wasn't because of any anti-mudblood feeling at the Ministry, they are getting a little better.

After the battle I just couldn't do it any more.

I'd never felt more useless in my life. I was part of the backroom staff, communications, tactics, supplies, the things that are important but that no one ever mentions.

We were to one side of the battle, a single strike would probably have wiped us all out but Dumbledore's army kept the Death Eaters too busy to think of doing that.

Our job was to try and keep control of the battle, patch up any injuries and prevent it spreading and hurting too many people. We succeeded in one and a half of these objectives. No one not already involved at the start of battle was hurt. Our side won the battle so we must have had some control over it. But we failed completely on the injuries front.

The trouble was they weren't injuries, they were casualties.

There were seventy healers in the tent. And there were about five people to treat for each one. They fought a losing battle against the tide. Some people they saved - Fleur, Viktor, Ginny. Other people, they couldn't.

There were many reasons, people were already dead, cut down by the Aveda or their bodies were burnt out from the cruciatus. And other times it was because the Death Eaters were using spells and curses that no one knew how to counteract. So the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall and I were reduced to reading through every book on the subject we could lay our hands on.

Of course it wasn't enough. These people had been refining their knowledge of the Dark Arts for years and years. Some we could save, but for others like the poor soul who burned from the inside out, there was no help.

And then they brought in Neville. He was still alive, just about, but in excruciating pain. And every now and again, he coughed up blood, or some of his skin sheered off.

There was nothing anyone could do for him, not even dull the pain. The greatest wizard of his age, and several of the other greatest minds, couldn't stop what was happening to Neville.

For five hours I could do nothing as one of my best friends died, piece by piece.

After the battle I decided to become a healer.

All the theoretical knowledge that I was so proud of couldn't do anything to save him, so I'd learn how to actually help people instead of standing around ineffectually.

It wasn't easy. I'm not the natural healer type. It took me seven years to complete the five-year course. And I'm satisfied with what I do now. I'm helping more people than I ever could have done at the Ministry. Plus Ron is doing a fantastic job there. Percy hates him for getting a big job ahead of him but it couldn't be helped.

Ron and I married two summers afterwards. He always accepted my decision and dealt with everything far better than I did. Far better than a lot of us did. Viktor resorted to drink and drugs and anything else he could get his hands on. He detoxs himself every now and again. But whatever he does to himself, he's still the greatest seeker playing and finally won a World Cup a couple of years ago. He dedicated it to his dead teammates. He doesn't talk about what happened to them or him, but I presume it was something similar to what happened to Neville and me. I suppose the drugs take away the phantoms in his head. I've never found anything to take mine away.

We've all got our own way of dealing and no one intrudes if you say that you were there at Cammlan Field that day. It's quite strange how a lot of us go out of our way to avoid meeting anyone else who fought that day. I mean, obviously I see Ron. And Harry sometimes. And Remus, if he's with Harry, but for everyone else all I hear about them are what Ron tells me or if they, God forbid, turn up in St. Mungo's.

But last week, when the Prophet started publishing this series of stories about the war, a goodly number of people owled me and said it was all lies. And they wanted to tell their side of the story. So I owled Luna who said the Quibbler would run an issue telling our side. So I have to disrupt everyone for their story.

Obviously I can't ask the Headmaster, he's in a better place, or Professor McGonagall, she'll say it's all nonsense. I respect that. I won't be asking Professor Snape. Because I don't want to hurt him, what he did things that day to people who were his friends that no one should ever have to do. And because he scares me.

He, or so I've been told, can't remember that day. But I can. Our side had the upper hand, and then suddenly there was an explosion of casualties and dead bodies. But they were all Death Eaters.

We all looked to the viewer. The only people on our side that you could see were Harry who was engaged with Voldemort, cut off from everything outside by some sort of spell, and Remus and his platoon, who were stupifying Death Eaters on the right of the plain. Then there in the centre was Professor Snape, black cloak flapping like a bat, cutting down anyone stupid enough to get in his way. In the half an hour that followed, I counted that he'd killed at least forty people. They tried to stop him, but he wasn't going to be stopped; he carried on going through everything they threw at him. Bellatrix Black hit him straight in the chest with a Cruciatus but he didn't even flinch.

The worst thing was that he was so detached. Like this was normal, this was ordinary. I was never able to look him in the face after that.

* * *

End notes: The inspiration for this was all the squeaking about whether or not Black and Lupin were lovers. And I thought that would be the sort of angle Rita Skeeter would run with. Which lead to the first line. And the thoughts in that linked well with another ficlet set at the same time. And then Hermionie turned up. It was originally supposed to be a dark comedy but it twisted itself.


End file.
